


two minds (and bridges built)

by FangedAngel



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangedAngel/pseuds/FangedAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve hasn't been the same since North Korea. Danny tries to pick up the pieces, fails, and tries again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	two minds (and bridges built)

**Author's Note:**

> Stream-of-consciousness, slight angst, set after 2x18 but only actually spoiling 2x11. Title based on Stateless' Bloodstream. First McDanno fic.

Danny is halfway to drunk and Steve is not far behind when Steve decides to go for a swim, paying no heed to Danny's loud protests. Danny watches from the lana'i as Steve throws his shirt into the sand and runs into the black ink of the ocean, and for a while all Danny can see of him is the pale flash of his arms breaking the darkness around him.

Danny watches, downing another beer, the warm buzz of the alcohol not enough to distract him from the fact that Steve is still not himself, that Steve hasn't been himself for months. Danny doesn't know what to do about it, doesn't know how to approach this particular problem. He knows that he hates it, that he hates the sharpness of Steve's bones, hates that Steve's lost weight, hates that Steve doesn't get nearly enough sleep. Most of all, he hates the look in Steve's eyes, that look that Danny can't read, try as he might, the look Danny never wants to see again, the look Danny associates with the days immediately following the events in Korea. They never talk about what happened there, they never talk about the state Steve was in when Danny found him, Steve's battered body and Steve's cold eyes. He knows Steve was trained for torture, that he was trained for worse. He respected Steve's wish for the whole thing to be forgotten, but it still nags at him, because Steve hasn't been the same since then, no matter how much he tries to hide it. Danny hates it, hates the helplessness, hates Steve shutting him out, not letting him in.

He sees Steve making his way to the shore, emerging from the water like some sort of god, and Danny knows he's not drunk enough to have an excuse for that thought. He's not drunk enough to explain why he's standing, why he's walking towards Steve, bare feet leaving prints in the sand, the light from the lana'i casting shadows on the beach. Steve stops, waits for him, smiling softly, like the sight of a tipsy Danny doing crazy things is endearing, and Danny...Danny stops as well, watches the drops of water clinging to Steve's skin, thinks that he can almost taste the salt the ocean's left on Steve's skin on his own lips. He's close enough to touch, but he doesn't. He laughs, uneasily, and walks back a few steps, sitting on the sand a safe distance away from the lapping waves. He lies on his back and looks at the stars and tries to distract himself by thinking that being here isn't so bad, if only for being able to see the stars, tries to remember how to breathe, how not to panic, his heart beating an uncertain beat in his chest.

Steve sits next to him, and Danny doesn't meet the questioning gaze aimed at him until Steve lies back and looks at the sky as well. Danny steals a glance and realise that their hands are almost touching, and his fingers tingle with the need to reach out and wrap around Steve's wrist. Danny grabs two handfuls of sand instead, sand that sticks to his damp palms and to the pants he's carefully ironed just before driving to Steve's place.

"What's going on with you, Steve?" he whispers, and the inches between them suddenly seem to turn into an abyss as Steve tenses in reply, his shoulders squared, his jaw clenched.

Danny turns his head to look at him, bewildered at the reaction, but Steve is definitely not looking at him now.

"It's nothing, Danny," Steve says, in a hushed tone, and Danny thinks this is the most vulnerable he's ever heard Steve be.

It freaks him out, a little, that things seem to be even wronger than he initially thought, and he wonders if he's let this stew too long, if he's made a huge mistake.

"Don't pull that on me, man. I know you!" Danny says, remembering the time Steve told him the same thing, the earnestness of Steve's gaze then.

"No, you don't."

It hurts, of course it does, but Danny holds his tongue, because he knows the mistake he always makes, he knows that Steve's anger triggers his fury, he knows that he can't lose it now, because it would mean Steve will slip even further away, and Danny has to fix this, has to get to the bottom of this.

"I'm your friend," he says, and he hears the sharp intake of Steve's breath.

He moves into a sitting position and looks down at Steve, who angles his face away, trying to hide, trying not to be seen. Danny doesn't think before he places two fingers under Steve's chin, and he's not even surprised when Steve lets him do it. Steve meets his eyes, and in the shadows around them, his face is open and honest and painted with so many emotions at once that it's impossible for Danny not to know, it's impossible for Danny not to lean down and kiss Steve like his life depended on it. And Steve pulls him down, kisses him back until Danny can taste his need so much that it becomes part of him, until Danny can taste all the words Steve hasn't been able to say, all the things he's kept bottled up, hidden, suppressed. And Danny knows now. Danny can suddenly see everything, feel everything. Danny can taste the salt of the ocean on Steve's lips, on Steve's tongue. And it's too much, all at once, it's too much.

"Danny," Steve says, when Danny moves back.

"Danny," Steve says, when Danny stands and walks away.

"Danny," Steve says, his voice breaking, when Danny walks back into the house, out of reach.

~*~

Steve looks like shit when he walks into HQ the following morning, as much as Steve can ever look like shit. Danny's already there, trying to engage Kono in whatever passes for casual chatter in his state, but she's having none of it. When she turns towards Steve, the chirpy tones of a cheerful 'good morning' die on her lips, and she just stares at him, and then stares at Danny, who probably looks just as bad at Steve. Whatever questions she might have are cut short when Steve walks into his office without saying a word, when Danny looks resolutely down at the computer, his fingers gripping the edge of the table like he might drown.

It's a slow day, with no cases and just tedious paperwork that they all hate. Chin and Kono keep exchanging these infuriating worried glances that Danny can't ignore from behind the glass walls of his office, and it just makes everything worse. He knows what they'd say if they'd know. He tries not to steal glances at Steve's office, but it makes his stomach churn even more, and he wants to do something, wants to fix it, wants to explain it even though there are no words to explain panic.

It's a slow day, and it's only a couple of hours before Danny can't take it anymore, before he walks from his office to Steve's, under the cousins' watchful eyes. He glares back at them and they make themselves scarce, and Danny just walks in, closing the door behind him like it will cut them off from the world.

Steve looks at him and it's worse than ever, because Steve's eyes are empty, blank, the SEAL training apparent in how he's hiding everything that ever made him Steve, and for a second Danny thinks he can see what Wo Fat saw, that blank resistance, and he feels nauseous.

"I slept in your bed."

There's a flicker of something on Steve's face when Danny says it, and Danny doesn't even care that his voice sounds pathetically hoarse.

"I slept in your bed while you were away with her because I couldn't handle your absence, OK? I slept in your bed and wrapped your sheets around me like some lovesick girl, just because they smelled of your washing powder, just because it was your bed and it was your room and I needed you close. I slept in your bed and I lied about it, Steve, I lied about it, because this, this right here, I don't know how to cope with the enormity of this, the enormity of how this feels. It's like I can't breathe when I look at you, when I think of you, and it freaked me out when I thought about it and realised that Grace is not the only person I'm living for anymore."

It's a massive torrent of words and Danny presses himself to the door like it will make him disappear, his fingers on the door handle like he's seconds away from bolting. Steve watches him, and Danny can see the mask crumble, and all he wants is to reach out and touch and hold and kiss but it's not the right moment, not yet.

"I was trained to resist torture. And I couldn't tell you this, but when I was there, when that bastard was torturing me, all I could think of was you, and how I couldn't bear the knowledge that I would never come home to you again, that I would never be close to you again. I couldn't accept the fact that I would die and I'd never get to see you again, that I'd never hear you ranting at me again like you do. And then you were there, Danny, and you brought me back. But being back in the real world meant that I had to be the friend that was happy for you because you found someone who made you happy, someone whom you could introduce to Grace. I love seeing you happy, but it was hard. It was harder than I'd anticipated. It changed everything, that knowledge," Steve replies in kind, whispered words coming out of him like he's done trying to hide, like he's done pretending.

Danny inhales, exhales, tried to hold it together, and Steve just looks at him, and they're both sitting on their side of the room, as if moving would trigger some sort of cataclysm.

"It's why I went for training with Catherine. I thought it would work, Danny, I really did. I was so happy for you, and for Grace, but it hurt. It hurts, that I'm not-"

"Shut up. Just shut up," Danny snaps, and he can see Steve trying not to flinch.

He moves without thinking, barely managing not to barrel into the desk with all his strength, walking around it to get to Steve, to fist his hands in Steve's polo and straddle his legs and kiss him until Steve's bottom lip is swollen and full and dark red and Danny can't do anything other than suck on it, bite into it.

"Danny," Steve says, again, and his voice breaks, again, and Danny just wraps his arms around him and holds him and breathes in the scent of Steve's hair and the scent of his aftershave. 

And then Danny's lips trail a path down Steve's neck, his throat, and Danny can taste the bitterness of Steve's cologne, and beneath it, the salt of the ocean.

"Shut up," Danny says, again, pressing their foreheads together and they breathe together, lips almost touching.

"Just shut up, would you?"

And Steve smiles, that crazy goofy smile that Danny must have fallen for back when he was too busy hating him and his crazy suicidal ways, and it's OK. In the bright light filtering in through the windows, there are no shadows, and Steve is the Steve Danny knows, again.


End file.
